by Warren Adler
She heard Jackie busy in the living room, putting up the studio couch, which was always her last task before leaving the house in the morning. She was, as she had been for the past few weeks, off to her morning job at McDonald's.
"I want you to quit McDonald's today, too, Jackie," Grace said as she moved into the living room.
"Are you sure, Mom?"
"Very sure."
Jackie studied her mother's face.
"You're going to get the best, Jackie. The best of everything," Grace pressed. "Cross my heart."
She wanted to say "Trust me" again, but she held off. It was getting to be too much of a cliché to be believable.
"You still won't tell me what's going on, Mom?"
"When it happens you'll be the first to know."
If and when, she had wanted to say, knowing the if would plant a seed of doubt. This wasn't a morning for doubt.
Jackie smiled and shrugged. It was obvious that the implied promise of financial gain had considerably buttressed Jackie's optimism. The power of money, Grace thought, hating the reality of it.
When Jackie left the house Grace sprang into action. She looked up all the secondhand clothing consignment shops in the phone book and began her calls. Charity begins at home, she decided.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
She arrived at Sam's house with a U-Haul connected to her car. He came out to greet her. They kissed deeply, their embrace fervent.
"God, I couldn't wait until you got here," Sam said.
"And I can't wait to be here."
After a few moments he noticed the U-Haul.
"I'm feeling very industrious today," Grace said. "I've been neglecting my work."
He chuckled with amusement and shook his head, as if it had become a matter of growing indifference to him. She would be killing two birds with one stone: The money, of course, and what could be the biggest bonus of all, getting rid of more reminders of his unfaithful, deceased wife.
"We have to be true to Anne's wishes," Grace said, repressing any hint of sarcasm. "It was beginning to bother me."
"Of course, darling," Sam said, taking her hand and leading her into the house. They didn't allow the heat of passion to interfere with their beach walk and swim, as it had yesterday, and soon they were ambling along the shore, arms around each other's waists.
Today, Grace knew, would mark the first drastic change in their usual routine. Her mind was filled with the logistics of what she had planned. She calculated that with speed and efficiency it would take her at least a week to empty Anne's closet. That was her goal.
She had talked with a number of the store owners, told them the types of clothes that were to be consigned, mentioned the various famous designers involved and, in an uncommon burst of business acumen, insisted on a cash advance.
"Do you mind if Felicia helps me?" Grace asked, still working on the practicalities of the chore.
"Of course not," he replied.
As usual Marilyn chased the sandpipers and ran along the foamy edge of the surf. At intervals they stopped to kiss and embrace on the deserted beach. She loved being close to him, loved the spontaneity of their actions. She was also relieved that she had discovered a method that would take the pressure off, give him time to resolve things in his mind and, hopefully, meet her ultimate objective.
After their walk they had their swim and came back to the house and made love.
"I really like the idea of your wishing to fulfill this commitment to Anne," Sam told her when they were winding down. Normally she loved this time, the talk, the conversational exchange. Sam, she had discovered, was a very verbal man, introspective, with wide-ranging interests.
She loved hearing about his early life, his affection for his parents and his struggles to succeed. He would tell her about the world in which he grew up, so different from her own. He seemed compelled to tell her his story, not only the narrative of his marriage, which she endured stoically, but his life before meeting Anne, which was much more exciting and far less stressful on her. Unlike her own story, Grace knew it was an honest portrayal, embellished more with sentiment than inaccuracy.
He had begun, too, to discuss national and world events, his perspectives on these matters and his opinion about politics, government, foreign affairs and economics.
Even though it pointed up her lack of knowledge on these subjects, she listened carefully, treating his conversation as if it were an educational experience. She marveled at Sam's knowledge and considered herself extraordinarily fortunate to have won the affection and love of such an intelligent man.
It surprised her, too, that she had absorbed enough to make reasonably acceptable comments at appropriate moments, comments that probably indicated to him that she knew more than she did. She was certain that such discussions were a way of life in his marriage with Anne, and she tried to mask her lack of knowledge, which troubled her. It was, after all, another form of lying. Sometimes he would lead her into discussions that referred to events in her own fictitious history.
"The fact is," he told her, "the country is in a compensation phase, swinging now somewhat to the right of center, but not quite like it was in your Washington days."
"Not quite," she replied, frightened by the reference.
"It had to come. It's like a pendulum."
"Absolutely."
"I used to argue with Anne on this point. I never won, of course. She was adamant. Very articulate, too. She believed in her heart that anyone right of center was a hypocrite. She was really down on anything that smacked of hypocrisy."
"Was she?" Grace said, thinking of the letters in her possession.
"Vacillating politicians would drive her up the wall. Anne had this thing about telling it like it is. She could be pretty damned passionate in an argument."
Elsewhere, too, Grace thought, triggered by his mention of passion, remembering Anne's lover's phrase, the "fire of passion."
Now when he referred to Anne she could barely contain her anger and disgust. Why did he continue to extol his late wife's virtues? She was a fucking whore, Sam, she wanted to say, to shout it out, blast it into his mind.
"When she believed in something she refused to accept anyone else's point of view. She considered it a kind of surrender, a compromise of her integrity."
When Sam stressed this quality of integrity in his dead wife he would grow reflective, suggesting that he was again beating himself up because of is own infidelity. Grace tamped down her anger, forcing her silence. The Anne myth was obviously too firmly established in Sam's mind to accept any challenge from her.
Thankfully, he seemed less and less interested in interrogating her about her past, as if, she hoped, he might have finally put his mind to rest as to her suitability as a replacement for Anne.
Before she learned of Anne's betrayal, she had been able to tolerate his endless paeans of praise for Anne's taste, integrity, poise and intellect. Always after these outbursts she would counter in the only way she knew Anne was beatable ... in the sack.
At those times, when she was consciously competing with the "frigid" Anne, she would marvel at the intensity of her sexuality. She would become the aggressor, the director, putting him through a series of physical gyrations that would make a hooker blush.
Often, during these episodes, she would wonder if she had carried things too far. But his expressions of gratification, sometimes loud and vocal, as uninhibited and resonant as her own, put her mind at ease. In this area their compatibility could not be challenged.
Because he respected the idea of fulfilling her so-called commitment to Anne, he didn't object to her spending most of the afternoon carrying out armfuls of Anne's clothes. She sent him off to his den to do his business while she and Felicia took the clothes off the racks, sorted them and laid them carefully in the U-Haul.
"You give all these to charity?" Felicia asked her as they worked. Although Felicia was a woman of few words and normally kept her personal thoughts to herself, Grace knew a
broad hint when she heard one. She did not take the bait.
"Yes, Felicia. This was the late Mrs. Goodwin's wish."
"Fur coats for people on the Welfare?"
"The charity people know how best to help the poor. They'll probably sell them and recycle the money for various good purposes."
Grace could sense that the entire operation puzzled Felicia. She was probably even more puzzled by the goings-on between her and Sam. Thankfully, she posed no threat or interference. Grace timed it so that she was able to make stops at the two secondhand clothing stores she had chosen and still return in enough time for them to have their usual candlelight dinner.
The proprietors of both stores were amazed at the treasure trove she had provided, and Grace walked away with advances of a thousand dollars from each store. Grace's deal with them called for an additional commission coming, less the advance, if the clothing was sold.
She deposited the cash into her checking account. Both proprietors agreed that it would not be difficult to find customers for such high-quality clothing.
Neither of them questioned her as to where the clothing had come from. Since all transactions were in cash, they didn't require any confirmation of her real name. She told the proprietors that she would call or visit periodically to check on the progress of the sales. To further cover herself, she had gone through any pockets that might hold clues to the origin of the clothing or additional details of Anne's secret life. She found nothing.
Grace admitted to herself that she didn't feel very good about these transactions, nor did she believe that she was getting more than a fraction of their value. Survival required compromise, she assured herself. But the money was comforting and, surprisingly, ameliorated the effects of the betrayal of her earlier principles. After all, no one was harmed by these activities, and the benefits to herself and Jackie would be significant.
She was pleased to discover that Sam was no longer curious about the various charities to which the clothes were consigned.
"Would you like to know where they went, Sam?" she would ask.
"Darling, I'm sure they were put to good use."
"Yes, Sam. They were."
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
As she had figured, the disposal of the clothes took nearly a week. Emptied, the interior of the closet had an eerie feeling. It was cavernous without the clothes. She had removed everything, all of Anne's possessions, even her costume jewelry and her makeup. The latter she disposed off as garbage; the former was consigned to the secondhand stores, with advances totaling another thousand dollars.
Except for the photographs displayed in the bedroom, which she feared removing, there was no longer any sign that Anne had lived in that space. Not so with the rest of the house. The photographs and the paintings were still in place and, of course, the totality of the design and decor bore Anne's stamp.
Still Sam didn't mention any further suggestions about their future together. She would give him time, she promised herself.
When she returned to her apartment in West Palm Beach at the usual late hour, Jackie was home. She had assured her that she wouldn't see Darryl and she had quit both jobs. Also she seemed to be devoting herself to her schoolwork. With cash coming in, Grace was able to increase her allowance, although the car, which was still in Jackie's possession, remained an issue.
"Things seem to be going very well with you and your mystery man," Jackie said with a wink. Grace wasn't happy with the implication of the wink.
"Yes," Grace said, deliberately noncommittal.
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"Can't we just drop it, Jackie? You did promise, remember."
"That doesn't mean I'm not curious, Mom. I figure you're spending most of your time with him. You said you're not working. So it must be very serious between you two. And it is paying off."
She was right about that, Grace thought, noting the irony. The week-long foray into the secondhand shops had produced ready cash. And it hadn't made the slightest impact on her relationship with Sam. If anything, it seemed to grow more and more intense, and she began to foresee the inevitability of some decisive action on his part.
She had, of course, rationalized her actions in selling Anne's clothes on the basis of desperation and necessity. She felt slightly more relaxed about her relationship with Sam. He told her he loved her often, but she didn't press him for any further commitment, frightened about pushing him too hard. She continued to withhold what she knew about Anne. That, she told herself, was her ace card. By contrast Jackie's pressure on her for more knowledge about her mysterious boyfriend was increasing.
"I am your daughter, you know. What I don't understand is why you haven't brought him around. The least you could do is introduce him to me. Or are you afraid he'll run when he finds out you have a daughter my age?"
"He knows that. We'll bring you guys together in good time."
"I don't understand the big deal. Are you ashamed of me?"
"These days I'm quite proud of you."
"Then why am I such a big secret?"
"I told you. He knows about you."
Not really, she told herself, upset that she was lying to her daughter. After all, what he knew didn't in any way describe Jackie's background.
"Has he got kids?"
"Yes. But they're not kids."
"So he's older," Jackie said, smirking.
"Yes, he is. But that's all I'm going to say."
"Have you met his kids?"
"No," she lied, not wishing to tell her the details of attending Anne's funeral.
"And he's not curious to meet me?"
"You agreed not to ask a lot of questions, remember?"
"It just seems strange is all."
"All right," Grace agreed, relenting somewhat. "Here's all you have to know. I'm going with a very nice man. Neither of us has explored any options for the future. That means we don't want to get involved with each other's families. Not yet."
Grace paused. Once again she was shading the truth. Sam had indicated that he would like to meet Jackie.
"Does that satisfy you?"
"No."
"Well, that's the only information you're going to get out of me at this point."
Jackie shrugged grudgingly.
Of course there were still other issues between her and Jackie that had to be faced, especially the matter of the car. They had avoided any discussion of the subject for the last week, although it still hung in the air between them. But with money in hand, Grace felt it was best to put that problem behind them.
"Now for the car," Grace said, taking a deep breath. "Here is what we're going to do. We're going to give Darryl, wonderful Darryl, a check for the full amount of what's owing in exchange for the proper documentation on the car. Is that fair?"
Grace watched Jackie's face drain of all color. Her eyes opened wide.
"The whole amount?"
Grace nodded.
"You'd pay the whole amount? Twelve hundred dollars? Do you have that much?"
"I do. We're going to pay it all off so you'll be released from the obligation. Fair and square. That's your deal. Am I correct?"
"Yes, Mom. That's my deal, but..." Jackie said. She seemed oddly confused.
"No buts ... that's the least I can do for my daughter."
"You don't have to, Mom."
"Oh yes I do. I have the money."
"Where—" Jackie began.
"Please, Jackie. No questions."
"Him? Right?" Jackie asked.
"Do you want me to do this or not?"
"I guess..."
To Grace's surprise Jackie didn't seem as pleased as she'd expected.
"I thought you'd be delighted that we'll be taking the pressure off you. Isn't that what you want?"
"Yes, Mom ... I..."
Her hesitation was surprising, but Grace shrugged it off.
"I thought you'd jump at the chance."
"Sure, Mom," Jackie said, but the color had not yet come b
ack to her face.
"Then you'll own the car outright. Am I correct?"
Jackie nodded, still in an obvious state of confusion. Grace studied her, puzzled.
"I guess so," Jackie replied.
As she spoke, her mind was ticking off possibilities to which she had devoted lots of thought. She would give Darryl the benefit of the doubt about the documentation. She was determined to tread carefully and, bowing to Jackie's fears, not to lose her cool and tempt his anger.
But she had gone way out on a limb to get the money, done what had earlier been the unthinkable. Of course, she was resentful that she had been reduced to such an action. But what choice had she?
Ironically, she wished that Sam could handle this for them. Sam was a shrewd businessman who would know what to do. Sam wouldn't be afraid of Darryl, whom he would be sure to characterize as a third-rate punk manipulating a confused teenager. Sam would send the bastard packing.
"Here's what we're going to do," Grace said. "We'll meet Darryl in some public place, say a restaurant, where we can discuss this in a businesslike way."
Inexplicably, Jackie's eyes seemed to glaze over.
"What is it, darling?"
"It's just ... well, I'm sort of afraid."
As Jackie spoke, her lips trembled.
"Afraid of what?"
"I shouldn't be. I know I shouldn't, but I am."
"There's nothing to be afraid of, darling. We're paying off a debt. Believe me, I don't want any trouble."
"Suppose, well ... suppose..."
"That he can't give us any documentation, any papers? Is that what you're worried about?"
"Probably. Yes. I am worried about that."
"I'm not going to do anything stupid, Jackie. I just want to be sure he doesn't bother you ... us ... ever again. It has to be done, Jackie. The sooner the better."
"I guess..."
"Good," Grace said gently. "Call him now and arrange for us to meet. Get it over with. Okay?"